A Long Night, Short Lived
by TungstenCat
Summary: In his eyes, she was the dryad of an ash tree whose branches curled around him, bringing him closer and closer until he was completely encased within her. In her eyes, he was a refreshing thunderstorm, showering her in a desire she never truly understood. Both of them hope they will find what they are looking for tonight.


**Author's Note**: I've mentioned Pallan Minerva's "The Saga of Shirou's Summons" before, which richly characterizes not just our aspirant protagonist, but also many of the Servants that all too often serve as gags or footnotes. This particular story is inspired by his Kiara chapters, making it fanfic of fanfic. I would highly recommend you take a look before reading further.

* * *

"Ryuudou Temple, huh?" Shirou looked out of the window into the darkness of the empty streets. If he stared long enough, maybe he could peer through the night to where the temple stood on its lonely hill, holding its secrets. "Tohsaka said that Caster's probably there. Taking advantage of the leylines to build their power."

"Yes," said his Servant from behind him. "They have had days now to entrench themselves. They will have many defenses."

He could hear soft footfalls as she approached, the silk whisper of stockinged feet gliding over the floor. The rustle of cloth as she leaned close to him, so close he could feel her warmth breath against his neck. He could take in her scent, sweet and heavy with promise like ripe peaches on the branch. He felt the familiar heat growing in his belly and... lower down, the same heat she always drew from him whenever they were close like this.

_Focus, _he told himself sternly. _There are people out there who need help. People who need a hero of justice. You don't have the time to think about that_.

So he kept his eyes fixed forward, along the dim expanse of road half hidden in the night. It was easier to ignore the stirrings below if he didn't look at her.

"But I can't just leave it," he said after a time, "Caster is only draining people of energy now, but sooner or later they're going to kill someone. I have to do something."

"Mmm," she sighed into his ear, making him shudder. "We can defeat Caster, but it will be dangerous. Right now, our connection is not what it should be. It would be difficult to battle them without your essence.. flowing in me. Giving me strength as your Servant."

His ears burned with shame. "I'm sorry. If I had summoned you properly—"

"Hush." Soft hands moved up the sides of his face, gently turning him until he was staring into those yellow eyes. No, they were far too rich to be yellow. They were new gold, shining bright with the promise of sinful luxury. It would be so easy to lose himself in them, plunge into those molten pools and let his hands move to where they ached to be around that slender waist.

He swallowed hard. She smiled reassuringly at him as she stroked his cheek. "Fortunately there is a way to repair it. A way that will bring pleasure to us both."

She draped herself on his shoulder, pushing the swell of her generous breasts against him. She had to know what she was doing, how she was setting his every nerve aflame. But no, he couldn't assume anything. He couldn't impose himself onto her unless he was absolutely sure.

He cleared his throat. "Ah, uh, um, I'm not very good at magecraft. Should I call Tohsaka?"

She giggled, the sound of silver chimes ringing and resonating in the ruin of a depraved temple. "An inspired idea, but perhaps for another evening. No, tonight should be between us. Not just as Master and Servant, but as a man and his woman."

She moved against him, now flush against his back, her arms draped over his shoulders. Her breasts pressed insistently into his back; he could easily feel the firm nipples through the thin layers of cloth separating their skin. When had it become so difficult to breathe?

"You must have heard of the rite of mana transfer. The most primal connection, the joining of flesh as a gateway to joining our souls. Master..." A brook that dampened an oak, a leaf following the stream to a near-frozen lake illuminated by a cold sun. Shirou could barely hold back a gasp as her desperate voice touched his skin. "Please... make love to me."

His cheeks burned and his heart thrummed as her words set in. He blinked stupidly, lost in a flood that was equally made up of disbelief and sheer teenage hormones. She pressed her advantage, raising her head to let her lips brush along his jawline.

"Please," she repeated, before pressing her mouth fully to his skin. Her hot tongue ran along the shell of his ear, sending little shivers down his spine that made his tailbone rattle, tightening his abdomen. His heart was close to leaping out of his chest as her arms wrapped a little more tightly around him.

_No. Focus!_

He took a deep breath and grabbed hold of his willpower, before it left him entirely. It was just enough to let him pull away and escape the circle of her embrace. He panted hard as he took a few steps back, until his back pressed against the wall.

The disappointment was clear on her face. More than disappointment, her eyes were liquid with hurt.

"Is the thought that repulsive to you?" she asked. Her voice might have passed for steady if not for the hitch of breath at the end, the soft tremble of her fear.

"No!" he rushed to assure her. "No... I-I said it before, didn't I? You're beautiful, more than any girl I've ever seen, not even in magazines and..."

And he didn't normally babble like this. It was her eyes, the way they drew him in and pulled at him gently and sensually, until he found himself telling her all the thoughts and desires and wild urges he had buried deep inside himself, caged up as unnecessary to his dream of justice.

He tore his eyes away from hers, using up far more willpower than he could spare. He kept his eyes on the floor, as far away from her face as he could. Breaking that connection helped restore some clarity. At least until his eyes strayed across the pure white of her stockings, sexuality oozing from the legs they encased. He almost lost himself all over again.

"You shouldn't have to," he finally managed. "I don't... I don't want you to force yourself just because we need a contract or w—"

He started as warm fingers touched his own, rubbing gently before intertwining them. He couldn't help but savour the velvet brush of her skin against his.

_Are_ _all girls' hands this soft?_

"I'm not forcing myself," she said, her voice as tender as her fingers. "No, more than that, I'm pleasing myself by satiating a need that has been left neglected for far too long. I've wanted to do this for a while now."

She tugged his hand up to touch her face, trace the delicate skin just above her jaw. His eyes followed, and then they were looking at each other again. Her eyes were gold braziers, burning with open desire. Desire for him.

He felt lightheaded and dizzy, even as his heart pounded rapidly in his chest. It picked up in pace when she slowly licked her lips, pink tracing thick red lines and leaving them shimmering in the moonlight.

"Join with me and share our strength, Master, so I can help you save them. I need your essence. I need _you_."

Her voice was molten lava poured into his veins, sending every part of him aflame, especially the part between his legs. All the primal instincts he had long suppressed as unnecessary for a hero were growling now, demanding what was being so temptingly offered.

_She's okay with this. She _wants_ to do this. With me. _

It seemed unbelievable that such a beautiful woman would ever want to touch him. He had never imagined such a thing, not even in his most fevered dreams. His erection was so painfully stiff in the tight confines of his pants a small part of him worried that they would tear.

Still, he hesitated, unsure of what he should do next. So when she smiled and danced a few steps backwards, pulling him along with her, he let himself be pulled along behind her.

It was only a little way to his bedroom, but Shirou knew he would remember those steps forever. She was a vision of desire before him, tilting her head back to speed him along with a coquettish smirk and a carnal gaze. He found his eyes straying to the long slit that ran up her habit, a perversion of everything religious orders should be, and the creamy white skin of her thighs underneath. It invited him to imagine all the other sensual things hidden underneath the black cloth hugging her flesh. Things that he would be seeing very soon, he thought with a gulp, refusing to admit how much he truly _wanted_ to see them.

Soon they were both kneeling down next his futon. Its simple white covers seemed far too plain for the heavenly figure smiling across from him, and for a moment he considered going to the closet down the hall to fetch his best set, the one with the embroidered silk. But before he could rise to his feet, his Servant moved to lay on its surface. She spread herself out, elegant legs rubbing against each other suggestively under the skirt of the habit. A pale lily waiting for him to pluck her petals.

"Come here, Master. Let us be one."

He sat paralyzed next to the futon, staring down at the feast laid out before him without the slightest idea of where to start. Should he kiss her? That was normal when people had... he swallowed... had sex, right? Or maybe he should join her? Wait, was it okay to have his clothes on the bed? It seemed dirty, but she still had hers on so—

He shook his head sharply to clear the panic that was steadily creeping up alongside his arousal. _Think, Emiya! What is a guy supposed to do in this situation? _He racked his brain, thinking back to all the shows he had watched, the manga—

_He and Shinji were holed up in the gym supply room, far from where the teachers would look for truants. Shirou hated to miss class, but his friend had insisted he had something that absolutely needed to be soon. That would 'make a man of him'. If it might teach him to be stronger, so he could get closer to his ideal, then maybe it was okay just this once._

_Shinji grinned as he triumphantly held up a rather battered looking manga. "Here, Emiya! Everything a guy could ever need to know about girls!"_

_Shirou's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed brilliant red when he saw the naked lady on the cover. _

"_Shinji, we can't—!"_

_'Sure we can," scoffed the purple-haired boy. "Who's going to stop us, that idiot Hashikawa-sensei? Now check this page out, look at those tits!"_

_Shirou's face burned with embarrassment, but he couldn't just walk away from it. Not when his friend was so eager to share it with him, turned to him with commentary for every page (comments that would make Taiga slap him silly with her shinai if he ever repeated them, but it was the thought that counted, right?) _

_So he had ended up seeing quite a bit, despite his misgivings. Then he had firmly locked it all away in the back of his mind as irrelevant to his life. _

Irrelevant, until now.

Right, he did have a guide after all! It might be his first time, but if he got stuck, he could always remember what Shinji's manga had so painstakingly depicted. Relief flooded through him, and he smiled.

"Fufufufu," came a light laugh from the futon. "So eager to begin, Master?" Her voice became a breathy whisper. "Good, for I am too."

He looked back at her and froze at the sight of her legs rubbing together, drawing his eyes towards the core still hidden under her habit. His chest and abdomen tightened up. He felt paralyzed at the sight, coherent thought threatening to leave him for good—

_The manga! What did the guy do first in the manga?_

He cast his mind desperately back to black ink on cheap paper depicting balloon-like breasts and lurid onomatopoeia. The first thing... taking off her clothes. Forcefully, so she knows you're into her.

He took a deep breath as he shuffled clumsily onto the futon above her, his knees planted on either side of her thick thighs. She smiled encouragingly as he reached down to grip the edge of her habit, along the side of that provocative slit up her leg. The black cloth felt oddly rough between his fingers. Maybe he was simply so aroused that every nerve was hypersensitive, in preparation for when he would finally, _finally _let himself touch that alluring flesh—

_Her clothes. You need to take them off._

Right. Just a quick tug upwards, and she would be... naked. The first step in sex. He took a deep breath to slow the rapid beating of his heart. Then he closed his eyes and yanked upwards before he could lose his nerve.

Only to have the cloth suddenly snag halfway up.

"Ouch!" A sharp cry of feminine surprise.

His eyes snapped open and he looked down. His brain short-circuited at the sight of her long sculpted legs and the soft curves of her hips, covered only in underwear of a bright magenta that was decidedly inappropriate for any woman with religious pretentions. He couldn't stop his eyes from roaming upwards, past the inviting flesh of her belly and up to—

He stopped at the sight of black cloth flipped awkwardly over her torso and halfway covering her face. In his rush to remove her habit, he had forgotten to ask her to raise her arms, and the cloth had been painfully arrested by her armpits.

"Oh crap, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" They had just started, and already he was doing everything wrong.

A slim graceful hand came to rest on his forearm, as the other one pulled the cloth from her face. To his immense relief, she did not look angry. No, her eyes spoke only of sympathy and understanding.

"Ufufu, perhaps a little _too _eager?" she giggled. "Relax, there is no need for haste. There is only you and I under the gaze of the moon and the night sky."

His breath came out in a ragged sigh as he sat back. She moved to join him, moving her hands on top of his. They were warm and wonderfully soft as they guided him back to her skirt. As his arms reached forward, his soul stretched along with them to touch her, to smother itself in her.

"Try again, Master" she purred. "This time, your Servant shall help you."

Their hands moved together, inching the black cloth up so that once again her bare flesh was exposed to his heated gaze. His breathing slowed with every kiss his fingers made on her skin, and he could hear her inhale quietly with every touch. As they approached the critical juncture, she let go of him so she could raise her arms. Her habit went smoothly over her head. He might have stopped to fold it, had his attention not been irrevocably captured by the vision unfurling before him.

Thick locks of hair, as black as a moonless night, tumbled down to curl around her gloriously nude torso. The ends danced along the swell of her bountiful breasts, a tableau of dark silk on pale skin more elegant than any calligraphy. Yet for all that her body was art, it was the kind that begged to be touched. No fragile painting behind a glass case, it pleaded to be handled, devoured, desecrated.

He pushed that last thought forcibly away. He would make her feel good. That was what a hero of justice would do. There were no untoward motivations here, this was an act of necessity. It just happened to feel good for him too.

He paused, trying to decide where he should touch her first. The small degree of separation was enough that sensation returned to his lust-addled brain, just long enough to let him feel his cock straining painfully against the zipper of his pants.

He reached down to release it, then hesitated again. What if he wasn't... wasn't good enough? Would she laugh? He flushed, then forced his hand down anyway. He didn't think she would. And even if she did, it didn't matter. They needed to... do this, to transfer his mana. So those people could be saved.

He nodded sharply to himself and tugged at the zipper. Of course, because life was always cracking a joke at Shirou's expense, it jammed.

"Oh come on," he groaned. He sat back on his haunches, working the zipper furiously.

"Here," she murmured as she rested a hand against his upper leg, beginning to slide it up. "Let me—"

"No, no! I have it! I—"

He jerked away from her contact, his feet slipping awkwardly against the smooth cover of the futon. His tumble worsened rapidly, as his legs abruptly shifted under him and sent him sprawling forward.

In slow motion, seeing it coming but unable to stop it, he saw himself fall down, down, towards the head that was coming up to meet him.

Their foreheads collided with a sharp _crack! _and a burst of agony. He moaned in pain, then felt a wave of guilt when his cry was echoed by hers.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...!" His cheeks burned with his humiliation, his self-reproach.

"I am unharmed," she assured him, even as she reached up to brush the hair from his eyes. "I am a Servant, Master. Such a small accident is of no consequence."

"Damn it, I can't believe I—"

She pressed a finger against his lips. "I do not hold it against you, and neither should you."

"A-alright." He clenched his fists in his lap, accidentally pressing one of them against his still-burning erection. The contact sent a spike of pleasure through him, a welcome relief from the dull ache in his forehead. He inhaled sharply at the unfamiliar sensation, his eyes flicking up to meet hers momentarily before he looked away shyly. But once again, she only smiled as she reached for his waistband.

"Please, Master. Allow your Servant to disrobe you."

"Y... yeah," he said thickly. "I mean, please."

He watched numbly as her hands glided over him, tugging and pulling at his clothes. He knew he should be helping her, but he hadn't exactly done a stellar job of undressing so far. Not to mention she didn't seem like she needed any assistance, as she stripped him with expert motions. Her touch was gentle, and he couldn't get over how soft her hands were. Whenever she would move closer to him to maneuver a particular article of clothing out of the way, she would breath on him, or touch her mouth to him, or simply rest her head on him for a moment. He knew that every time she did this, she was intentionally brushing up against his erection, and that she was enjoying the noises she was eliciting from him.

Soon he was as naked as she was, with only his boxers for modesty. He felt exposed as never before, vulnerable under her gaze and possible judgment. But her eyes darkened with lust as she took him in, roaming over his muscular chest and arms.

Her lips curled into an amorous smile as she beckoned him

"Come here, Master."

Willingly, he entered into her embrace, his breath hitching as his skin made contact with hers. It was soft, impossibly soft as he had always imagined a girl would be, and warm in every place they touched. He had meant to be respectful, to let her lead, but he couldn't stop his hands from gripping her hips. Pulling their bodies more tightly together.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, purred against it. "Oh yes, Master. Yes."

His heart was pounding, his entire face flushed, but he couldn't help a small smile. He felt like he was finally doing something right. But now what? All he wanted was to keep touching her, to move his hands to feel every part of her supple body, but that was just his selfishness speaking. What could he do to make this feel good for her?

The manga floated back into his mind. Right, he was supposed to touch her breasts now. He gently laid her back down onto the futon. She willingly fell, letting her shoulders hit the cover as she opened herself beneath him. Her hair splayed around her, framing her in a spiderweb of silk strands. Her breasts were ripe and full, the heat of her own arousal giving them a light pink flush, reminding him of cherry blossom petals. She sighed longingly as she waited to see what he would do next.

A shiver ran down his spine. He gulped, his nerves threatening to overtake him again. _How should I do this_? He was supposed to take her... breasts into his hands, he knew that much. But how much force should be used? Static panels on a page weren't much help.

He racked his brain again, coming up empty until he remembered some of the locker room talk he'd overheard. More experienced guys, guys with actual girlfriends, talking about their conquests. He wasn't an idiot, he knew enough not to take everything they said at face value. Still, one thing they all agreed on was that girls liked it rough. They liked a strong guy who knew how to take charge.

He reached out to touch her breasts, gingerly cupping them in his trembling hands. They were unbelievably soft, the flesh warm and welcoming against his fingers. He hesitantly moved them up, tracing gently over the rougher surface of her nipples. She moaned under his ministrations, squirming enticingly underneath him.

All he wanted to do was knead them between his hands, wallow in the feeling of soft flesh pressing against his palms. _No_, he reprimanded himself, _this isn't about you. You need to be more forceful, put more energy into it, so she'll enjoy _it. So instead he grabbed her nipples between his fingers, hard little nubs against his fingertips. He took a deep breath, then squeezed them.

"Ow! Master, what are you doing?"

He jerked back as if stung. "Did I hurt you? Was that not good?"

"I am fine, it was just a little... unexpected. You were so gentle before," she said softly, her eyes shining up at him like minted coins. "But if my Master likes it... vigorous, I shall certainly not object."

But despite her lustful smile, he couldn't help the guilt surging through him. He had been too rough with a girl, he had hurt her. He bit his lip and resolved to be gentler. He lowered his hands again, carefully cupping the tender flesh. He massaged them slowly and warily, as if they were made from spun glass.

"You don't have to be so reserved, Master. Harder, please. Make me yours."

He tried, he honestly did, but every time his fingers squeezed with more force, he found himself stopping. He couldn't shake the idea that she was only saying that for his sake, so he wouldn't get discouraged. He forced himself to stay on the gentle side, just to be sure.

Time seemed to drag on as he moved his hands along the valley of her breasts, as skittish as a newborn fawn nibbling on buds. Her nipples were semi-erect under his fingers, somewhat stiff but not the rock hardness he had been promised by his peers. But maybe they had just been exaggerating, and this was how it was supposed to be?

She sighed, a low whisper in the silence that hung around them. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he moved his hands away all the same.

"Thank you, Master," she murmured. "Now, let us truly join. I want to feel you," she leaned up to press kisses against his throat, along a pulse that was rapidly picking up speed again. Her lips and tongue burned against his skin. "_Inside me_."

His blood was roaring in his ears, his chest constricting so tight it felt like it might burst, as she pulled him down on top of her. Every nerve was lightning, every touch was thunder. He raised himself on his arms and once more took in the sight of her spread out before him. A blooming flower, a tree laden heavily with sinful fruit, the likes of which heaven promised but would never deliver. All of it was his for the taking.

He looked down, down the luxurious curves of her body, until… there. Soft dark curls at the cleft where her legs met. Even from here, he could smell the earthy musk of her arousal. Somehow she still wanted him, even after all his fumbling.

The thought filled him with renewed courage. He hesitated, then reached down to lightly run his fingers along that small patch of hair. It was warm and damp, and a bit sticky to the touch. Her lust clung to his fingers as he drew them back.

"Master, please," she moaned breathlessly. Her eyes were closed and she trembled slightly beneath him, a leaf in the first wind before the storm. The air was heavy with anticipation, an unspoken prayer drifting through a humid cave.

He hesitated, then took himself in hand. His entire body screamed for release, begging him to bury himself deep inside her, as deep as he possibly could. To feel every twitch and movement of her flesh walls grasping him, and hear her groan her lust into his ear.

He thought back again to the manga, picturing the decisive moment in his mind. All he had to do was line himself up, and push in. It seemed simple enough.

Gingerly he adjusted his grip on his shaft, guiding it forward until it just touched her quivering folds. He could feel the soft curls against the sensitive glans of his cock. Now to make sure he could, uh, perform to expectations. He didn't want to disappoint her with more weakness, not after how patient she had been with him.

Shirou grit his teeth. _Here goes_.

He drew his hips back, then thrust forward with as much force as he could muster. His tip encountered a fleshy barrier, came to a stop. That was the hymen, right? It was higher up than he had expected—he had barely moved forward at all—but that had to be it. But wait, she didn't seem like a virgin—

"Master, did you need some help?" her voice drifted down to him. He looked up to see her looking at him with gentle concern. "I can show you—"

"No, no. I've got this."

He grasped his shaft again, growling under his breath. He could do this. He pushed his cock a little further up into her folds, sliding against wet flesh. Every nerve screamed in pleasure, but he forced himself to focus. He needed to find—there! He snapped back his hips and thrust forward. Felt resistance, then tried again.

"Master," she said, and he felt her slim hand push against his shoulder. "Here. Allow me."

She rose from the futon, her body moving sinuously as she rested her hands against his shoulders. She gently pushed him down, until his back hit the covers, then climbed up onto his lap. Her tantalizing thighs closed on either side of his legs, and her warm heat brushed up against him. She steadied herself on top before smiling wickedly down at him.

"Just lay back and enjoy, Master. I will bring you all the pleasures of heaven, and all the lusts of hell."

He watched as she lowered herself down, towards his yearning cock. The sight was unspeakably erotic, but it also filled him with shame. He had failed her tonight, every step of the way. First with their clothes, then hurting her breasts with his rough hands. And now he couldn't even manage something as simple as sticking it in, and she was being forced to take over.

He felt his arousal flag as shame and disgust overtook desire. What kind of man was he? How could he call himself a hero, or even a Master, when his Servant had to help him every step of the way?

He sighed in resignation as he felt her thighs brush against his, her wet core sliding against him. But it didn't feel quite right, like something was missing—

"Master," she called gently. "Please don't let yourself overthink this. There is no shame in letting a teacher guide you in matters where you are inexperienced."

"Huh?" He looked down, then immediately saw the problem. His cock was standing only half-erect, even as she pressed her honeyed slit against it. The sight filled him with self loathing. And now he couldn't even stay hard for—

It flagged entirely, retreating towards the safety of his body. He felt small, shrivelled, like the lowliest of insects as his body betrayed him entirely. If he had been ashamed before, he was completely engulfed with it by now.

He couldn't bear to look her in the eyes. He choked before he was able to speak, his voice pathetically soft. "I'm sorry. This was a mistake."

"No, Master. You are simply letting your nerves get the best of you." She pressed him down again, her hands leaving his shoulders to trail down his chest, his abdomen. Every touch left sparks in its wake, making him shiver in arousal. "You just need to return to… the right frame of mind. Let me help."

He watched wordlessly, his eyes wide in fascination, as she bent her head over his flaccid member. Her tongue slipped out from between her lips, pink and wet, to wrap itself around him. He jerked at the contact, but her hands locked around his hips to keep him firmly in place.

She swirled her tongue expertly along his cock, her mouth hot and soft around him. She sought out the particularly thick, sensitive vein that ran along the underside, teased it until he thought he might go mad. He felt himself swelling again, expanding to fill her welcoming mouth. And now he was thrusting into that hot, wet cavern—it was wrong, he knew that, but he couldn't help himself. The suction of her mouth, the expert rolling of her throat. All of it made him feel like he was about to explode. His whole body shuddered, pleading for release.

_No_. He was supposed to come inside her, wasn't he? For the mana ritual. He couldn't afford to give in, no matter how heavenly she felt around him.

But it was too much, an overwhelming surge of fire that made his feet flex at painful angles. Just as he thought he could hold out no longer, she suddenly pulled away from him. He gasped from the sudden shock of cold air.

"Ah... it looks like you're ready for—"

Her teasing tone, the thin line of saliva still connecting his cock to her warm lips, all of it sent a powerful jolt coursing through him. A bolt of lightning struck out of the storm of sensations, and burning white engulfing his vision. He had no chance at all. With a guttural moan, he squeezed his eyes shut and let himself go. His mind went blank for moments, or perhaps they were years. His timekeeping skills were failing him in the deluge of pleasure.

He collapsed back onto the futon, panting hard, his brow soaked in sweat. After a moment, he opened his eyes and gazed up at his lover, still sitting over him. She was blinking rapidly, her hand wiping at a small trail of pearly white liquid that ran down her eye and along her cheek.

Had he done that? _Oh_. The blush returned to his face, hot and furious. He wanted the earth to swallow him whole, or maybe crush him under a great stone. Anything so he wouldn't have to look at his essence trickling uselessly down.

"My, my..." though still as sensual as ever, her voice had lost a lot of the life it held before. "I suppose I should have expected this. This time, the error was mine rather than yours."

She sucked at her semen-covered fingers, and though normally the sound would have made him erect again in a second, he was filled with such self-loathing that it had no effect except a slight twitch from his crotch. Her admittance didn't help him feel any better; in fact, he definitely felt even worse now. He was supposed to have taken the lead and been in control so that she could enjoy herself, but instead...

He wanted to curl into the fetal position and drown in the bathtub. That sounded much nicer than looking at her again and being reminded of how terrible he was.

"I'm sorry..." he muttered in one of the weakest voices he had ever spoken in, still staring at the wall. "I... I'm sorry."

"You..." she started, then sighed, still absent-mindedly wiping at her face and licking at her hand. "Never mind. This hasn't worked out, and I don't think it will no matter how we try. I don't feel interested in trying again anyway—"

She froze, her golden eyes widening in disbelief. She stared down at him in wonder, the moments dragging on between them. Then abruptly she rose to her feet, reaching down to grab her habit.

"I… I will prepare a knife and a cup. For blood," she said softly, as if not quite understanding what she was saying.

He watched helplessly as she left the room, closing the door gently behind her. He let himself fall back again onto the futon, collapsing into its familiar embrace. When he buried his face against the pillow, seeking comfort, he could smell the vestiges of musk. Now it spoke not of arousal, but of his failure.

"I'm sorry, old man," he whispered, closing his eyes tightly against the tears. "I couldn't be a hero."

* * *

**Author's note**: Obligatory PSA time - sex can be awkward as hell, especially when it's your first time. Communicating with your partner is a must.

This story began in laughter - "Imagine Shirou being so bad at sex that even Kiara gives up" - then developed into, well... this. I'm sorry, Shirou! I promise I'll make it up to you in another story.

Pallan, thanks for not only letting me play in your playground, but aiding and abetting me. I can only hope that someday I will be able to conjure up the vivid imagery you seem to dream up as naturally as breathing. A big thank you as well to Exstarsis of "Thirsty Girl" fame, who helped me avoid some serious characterization errors along the way.

Speaking of Exstarsis, she has written a sequel to this story that you should absolutely check out. its called "The Mermaid" and it's a thing of beauty, better written and morw satisfying , and I'm very thankful for it.


End file.
